


(give me) scars and stripes

by GrayWithAnA



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Character Study, Cutting, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, Episode: e060-066 The Stolen Century Parts 1-7, M/M, Major Character Injury, Masochism, Piercings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reluctant Sadist, Rough Sex, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21641974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayWithAnA/pseuds/GrayWithAnA
Summary: Taako likes to be held down.Magnus can deal with that.
Relationships: Magnus Burnsides/Taako
Comments: 6
Kudos: 96





	(give me) scars and stripes

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [“Beautiful is Boring”](https://genius.com/Bones-uk-beautiful-is-boring-lyrics) by BONES UK.
> 
> The working title of this story was literally just “Blood,” so...read with caution.
> 
> Your praise and con-crit are both cheerfully solicited.

Taako likes to be held down.

Magnus can deal with that.

It’s not like he does it intentionally, at first. Taako is so small, so soft, that it’s almost too easy for any touch to turn into a pin. Taako gasps and squirms every time, struggling just enough to feel himself trapped, and then subsides into low, panting moans. Magic flares and dies, over and over, in his eyes. And that’s fine.

Taako also likes to be bitten, and Magnus and his possessive streak like to bite, so he can deal with that too. He asks permission, of course, and Taako smirks and begs him to do it, so unabashed and dirty that Magnus is the one who blushes.

More often than not, Magnus lifts his mouth from warm skin to find Taako red-faced and shaking, and if he hasn’t just come in his pants—or skirt, or leggings, or splattered over bare skin—he’s about to. And that’s fine too. Magnus can’t even bring himself to raise an eyebrow each time it happens.

But Magnus can pinpoint the night he starts to worry, just a week or two after they fall into bed the first time. He’s on his knees on the mattress, and he’s given up pretending it’s an accident: he has Taako flat on his back, pinioned by Magnus’s hands on his upper arms, and they’re fucking hard and slow with Taako’s legs locked around his waist. They might have been at it for hours; the sun could be coming up; he wouldn’t know. Taako’s eyes are screwed shut and he’s groaning wordlessly like every stroke might kill him.

With that thought, Magnus’s mind, damned machine that it is, jumps to what Taako sounds like when he’s actually near death. The rough, strained noises are altogether too similar, and that’s—

—that’s not at all what he wants to be thinking right now. He drags his attention back to the flushed face under him and thrusts faster, breath raw in his throat. Taako whimpers encouragingly, rolling his hips to meet each thrust halfway, and Magnus bears down with as much weight as he dares, just to hear the helpless cry Taako gives in response. A groan rumbles in his chest as he speeds up, and Taako shivers and pants and tips his head back in surrender.

Magnus shivers, too, at that thought, cold down his spine. He ranges over Taako’s body like a blanket, like a shield, the change in position earning a gasp and a renewed babble of encouragement. Something fierce and warm flares in his stomach, and he shifts both of Taako’s birdlike wrists into one of his hands, freeing his other forearm to press implacable as iron over Taako’s chest. Not quite choking him, but. But.

Taako’s eyes snap open, catching his, and the heat in them strikes sparks on whatever emotion it is coiling in Magnus’ gut. He can’t suppress a moan, hips pressing forward helplessly, hands clenching, toes curling. The moment seems to stretch out for an eternity before his whole body convulses, air punched out of him, and sensation lights him up like electricity. He keeps Taako pinned as he shakes through an orgasm so intense and drawn-out that his eyes water.

When he comes back to himself, Taako is taut and trembling under him, eyes fixed on his face. Muscles still languid and humming with pleasure, Magnus slides his hand down Taako’s chest, feels the flat of Taako’s stomach jump under the touch, closes fingers around the head of Taako’s cock. Strokes him slow and tight, making him writhe, hips rocking into him in minuscule movements that send sharp little flares of oversensitivity up Magnus’ spine.

Taako sucks in a gasp at the contact, mouth open in a silent cry. He’s tensing, arching, squirming under the length of Magnus’ body, and—because Taako likes to be held down and he’s making it damn difficult to do that, that’s the only reason—Magnus presses his full weight down on Taako, trapping his hand between their stomachs and crushing their lips together.

Taako’s too far gone to kiss him back, panting through his nose and grinding sloppily into Magnus’ hand. Magnus rolls his hips again and Taako gives a frustrated wail, still struggling weakly against him. When Magnus lets up, just enough to be sure Taako can breathe, Taako lashes his head to the side and bites down on his own bicep, screaming full-throated into the mouthful of flesh, and comes hard over both their stomachs.

His cries fade to whines, then gasps, and Magnus’s lungs are seized by cold when he sees blood in Taako’s mouth, staining full, talented lips and straight white teeth. Worry erases any vestige of arousal from Magnus’s mind. He licks his own lips.

“Taako, are you okay?” No, that’s wrong, too much brotherly concern, but it’s too late. Taako cracks an eyelid.

“At least get your dick out of me before you start asking for reassurance, darling.” He unwraps his legs and shimmies backwards on the bed, locking eyes with Magnus and sucking in an exaggerated breath as Magnus’s cock slips free. “Tentative manhandling, how will I ever cope?”

Magnus’s mouth is dry. “No, I mean—” He casts his eyes towards the dark—gods— _seeping_ wound on Taako’s arm.

Something closes over Taako’s face. He brings a hand up to the spot and, when he drops it, the skin there has reverted to a soft pink suck mark, matching the scattering of them Magnus left over his neck and chest earlier in the night. “Oh, just got caught up in the moment, I guess,” he says lightly, and his voice goes husky as he murmurs, “I do love it when you bite me, babe.”

Then, quick as a flash, Taako is standing and pulling on his skirt. Over nothing, and fuck, isn’t that a thought. An idle flick of his fingers vanishes their still-wet come from the scene. “Anyways, thanks, my dude. That was good.” He’s reassembling his clothing while Magnus tries, almost desperately, to find the words to ask what the hell just happened. “See you tomorrow night.” He blows a kiss and is out the door.

“There was blood,” Magnus says, a few seconds after the wizard is gone. “There was.” And that’s—he doesn’t know what that is. His pulse thrums in his ears.

Magnus does not, in fact, see Taako the next night, and he tells himself he isn’t disappointed. This isn’t a _thing_ , this is just friends, just guys giving each other a hand—and lips, teeth, tongue, cock. Whatever. He jerks off with the imprint of Taako’s low, constant groaning in his ears and a hand over his mouth to stop himself saying anything embarrassing.

That night, not for the first time, he sees Taako’s blood in his nightmares. Taako is less apt to die during cycles than Magnus himself is, of course, but it has happened. Gruesomely, on a few occasions. Those images haunt him: Taako on hands and knees, choking blood onto the ground; panic contorting Taako’s face as fresh blood soaks through his clothing; Taako’s bloody hands as he tries to stem the arterial spray from a wound on his thigh.

This time, though, the last scene morphs and blurs in his mind, until Taako is holding the blade himself and grinning up at a frozen Magnus. Taako’s hands are slick and red, the knife still clutched in one of them as he reaches up to embrace Magnus. Bright blood spills in warm gouts over Magnus’ boots, and when he looks up the scene has changed again. Taako is naked. Bleeding bite marks pock his arms, legs, and stomach, opening and closing like eyes. Blood drips from Taako’s lips and paints his teeth, and his mouth shapes words Magnus can neither hear nor understand.

Magnus wakes drenched in sweat with a horrible keening noise caught in his chest, and the wetness of his clothes and red darkness behind his eyelids only make the nightmare more real. He paces the ship’s hallways and gasps for breath until his pulse slows and exhaustion begins to fade the wrenching panic, then collapses back into dull, dreamless sleep.

The night after that, Magnus slips into Taako’s room shortly before Taako would usually slip into his own and finds him shirtless in trousers before a vanity, deftly applying dark makeup around his eyes. Magnus waits politely for him to put the pencil down, then coughs.

“I’m busy!”

Taako turns, and the eerie magical gleam in his eyes, apparently reserved for frightening away anyone else, disappears like smoke. “Hello, handsome.” He puckers his lips, and Magnus obligingly takes two strides across the messy room to wrap a hand in Taako’s hair and kiss him, deep and dirty as always. He can smell the makeup, waxy and chalky and sweet. The resulting smear of crimson lipstick across his mouth definitely works for this idea.

“Got other plans?” he murmurs in Taako’s ear, managing almost the same rich tone that Taako can always pull off. He’s rewarded with a full-body shiver and Taako’s crotch shoved insolently against his thigh.

“Fuck, no,” Taako says, and then, “Oh, fuck,” as Magnus pushes him up against the wall, and then “Oh, _fuck_ ,” as Magnus drops to his knees, and then, “ _Fuck_ , yeah,” as Magnus unfastens his fly—nothing under the trousers, either, sweet gods—and wraps blood-red lips around the head of his cock.

Magnus braces a forearm across Taako’s belly to hold him in place, swallows hard, and exhales slowly through his nose as he takes his cock deeper and deeper down his throat. He leaves lipstick marks on the soft skin at the very base. “Fuck, you fucking _show-off_!” Taako yelps, voice cracking into a moan. Magnus cranes his gaze upwards and holds eye contact the whole way as he pulls off, feeling the muscles in Taako’s thighs shudder and twitch.

“You good?” Magnus lets the question come out slow and slick.

“That can’t be all you’ve got,” Taako answers, a fire of challenge in his eyes.

“Fuck, no,” Magnus says deliberately, lips brushing the head of Taako’s cock, and the wetness on them makes it that much easier to slide all the way back down. He groans deep in his chest and gets a staccato gasp from Taako in return as he bottoms out.

Magnus puts his arm down and replaces both hands firmly on Taako’s ass, giving him a little tug forward. There’s a pause, and then in a rush, Taako spills out, “Oh, gods, can I—” Magnus tugs again and inhales in preparation, closing his eyes against the tears already collecting there. This time, Taako mutters an incantation, the air throbs with power, and then he’s doubling over, one hand clutching Magnus’s head and the other scrabbling at his shoulder. Taako’s hips jerk tentatively and he curses, once, twice, and then he sets into a rhythm, a stream of throaty moans and high-pitched whimpers tearing out of him.

Magnus’s cock aches, straining the front of his trousers. Taako’s upper body is bent over him, and that better be a soundproofing spell he just cast, because he’s interspersing those needy groans with incoherently filthy words and sobs of Magnus’s name. For a minute, Magnus can’t help but lose himself in it, grinding the heel of one hand into his groin in time with the gulps of air he’s drawing between Taako’s thrusts.

He snaps out of it when Taako shifts position suddenly, arching his back and forcing him to swallow and inhale over and over to keep from gagging. When Taako’s hands pull away from him, he’s momentarily afraid Taako came and he missed it, but then he follows the hands up—straining his eyes again, but even through his blurring vision, the sight of Taako’s hands coming to rest on his own chest, pinching and toying with his nipple rings, is so very worth it.

Taako’s cries are spilling out higher and breathier, and Magnus grips the backs of his thighs and keeps dragging him forwards, throat working, abdomen tight with the effort of suppressing his gag reflex. “Mags, by the—I’m gonna—please, you’ve gotta—” Taako’s voice scales rapidly towards a scream. Magnus locks both arms around Taako’s hips and pulls him in as deep as he can take.

The scream cuts off abruptly into harsh panting, and Magnus watches Taako’s glittery fingernails dig viciously into his nipples, yanking so hard on the rings that concern jumps sharp and immediate into his chest. Taako shifts his grip and his nails bite in again, and then he’s groaning long and loud, hips bucking helplessly as he comes down Magnus’s throat.

Magnus waits until Taako is slumped back against the wall, keening on every exhale, before he pulls off, wiping his watering eyes, and stands up to kiss him a little bit gentler than he would usually dare. There are clean white crescents carved into his flushed chest, and Magnus thinks he might choke if they start to bleed too.

“Fuck, Mags, where did you learn to do _that_?” Taako pants. Magnus starts to offer a bashful answer, but Taako interrupts with, “And why the _fuck_ haven’t you been doing it to me this whole time?”

Nervousness is still roiling in Magnus’s belly, and he blurts out, “We should talk.”

Taako stares at him, and then sighs. “My man, are you joking? It can’t wait?” He looks down at Magnus’s erection, licking his lips so exaggeratedly that Magnus has to laugh.

“I, uh,” Magnus starts, and his voice falters with anxieties he can’t name. He clears a space on Taako’s bed and sits. “Uh, you—you hurt yourself. Tonight. And last time.”

Taako’s eyes search his for a long time before he speaks, and in the end his voice comes out very level. “You hurt me. You bite.”

Heat and shame and indignation vie for ownership of the lump in Magnus’s throat. _You like it_ , he thinks; _I know, I’m sorry, gods, I shouldn’t want to_ , he thinks; _I’ve never made you bleed!_ he thinks. Nothing makes it to his lips, and Taako waits another endless moment before sitting heavily next to him.

“Look, Mags. Whatever you’re thinking, I promise that’s not it. I can heal, I’m not punishing myself or anything, I’m not—it feels good. You weren’t biting like usual, so I did it. Seriously, that’s all. It—pain just gets me off.”

“That’s kind of fucked up,” Magnus says before he can stop himself, and then bites his tongue and hates himself a little more. The air between them freezes.

“You know, it is,” Taako agrees, thawing it slightly, and Magnus knows the lightness is forced, but he also knows it for the apology, forgiveness, maybe both, that it is. The rawness in Taako’s voice is almost well-concealed when he asks, “Are you actually going to make me beg to get my mouth on your dick now? Because holy _shit_ , dude,” and apparently that conversation is over.

* * *

It stays over for a while. They fuck most nights and Magnus asks permission to bite so Taako won’t do it himself, because somehow that’s better, and this may not be a permanent solution but it’s working well enough for him. Eventually, Magnus summons his courage to ask if he can play with the nipple rings. Taako rolls his eyes and moves Magnus’s hands just how he likes it, and actually squeals at the touch of his thick, calloused fingers. He pleads shamelessly for more, harder, rougher, and that night he rides Magnus until they both pass out.

The next day, Taako almost gets himself killed. He, Magnus, and Barry are out scouting this essentially peaceful world when a storm whips up and, moments later, something huge, stocky, and reptilian charges out of the brush.

Magnus throw himself between it and the wizards. He notices blue scales and two almost-humanoid hands, each with two hooked claws as long as his own arm, before the bite of his blade into the thing’s flesh becomes more important than the visuals. Dimly, Magnus registers that Taako—of course—has not stayed behind him. He’s blinking in and out of existence, hurling spells and then vanishing as soon as the monster pivots to where he had been.

Magnus doesn’t see it happen. Between the thunder and lightning, he doesn’t hear Taako’s scream, nor notice the constant flicker of spells die. He’s only alerted by Barry shouting and dashing over to a crumpled form on the ground.

Then he sees the blood on the monster’s claws.

Then he sees red, slamming his axe into the thing until it, too, collapses and he can sprint over to Barry, crouched on the wet ground, and Taako, prone beside him.

There are four fearsome claw marks down Taako’s back, shoulder blades to hips, deep enough to reveal fat and meat beneath the robes and skin. They’re only trickling blood, but that has to be Barry’s doing. There’s so gods-damned much blood soaking into the dirt. Magnus gingerly hoists Taako’s limp form up onto his shoulders, trying desperately to avoid touching his back, and his own chest constricts at the breaths rattling in his ear.

They make it about twenty steps before Magnus realizes that Taako is entirely conscious, shifting his weight to stay secure on Magnus’s shoulders. Horror tears through him.

They make it about two steps after that before Magnus realizes that Taako is _hard_ , and it would almost be funny to find a cock pressing insistently into his shoulder in this position, if it weren’t fucking nauseating.

“Mags, chill, Barry killed most of the pain,” Taako hisses near his ear. “It’s just enough to—” He cuts off with an evocative moan and somehow contrives to grind on Magnus’s shoulder.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Magnus snarls back, and Taako shuts up. The rest of the journey back, Taako is silent save for choked little cries at every jostle, and Magnus was right, he sounds no different like this than in bed. Gods. 

Thankfully, Taako is actually unconscious in the infirmary for the next two days while the healing spells work, and Magnus resolutely spends the entire time in his room contemplating what to say.

 _What is wrong with you?_ Been there, done that, and he hopes Taako was too out of it to remember.

 _This is way worse than I signed up for_. That’s not true; there’s no level of predictably fucked up in this world, and when has Taako been one to do something by halves? It makes his skin crawl to think of Taako hurting, but maybe they can work around it. They probably can.

 _Are you sure you’re, you know, healthy?_ Well, Taako would never speak to him again; that won’t cut it. Besides, he’s vibrant and aloof and melodramatic and magnificent and—Taako. He’s fine. But it takes everything in Magnus to trust that, to override his gut instinct to _protect_.

 _What else does it for you like this?_ No, he doesn’t want to know yet. Definitely not.

_How?_

_Why?_

_How far does this go?_

The last one is what he settles on, knocking on Taako’s door as soon as he hears Taako is out of the infirmary, and perhaps he should have predicted this—he _really_ should have predicted this—but of course when Taako shouts “Who is it?” his voice has an utterly recognizable breathy overtone.

Magnus mutters into the crack of the door, “Are you seriously jerking off now?” and Taako yanks it open and cocks an eyebrow.

“I’ve been unconscious for two days, darling, of course I am.” He’s barely wearing a pair of tartan boxers, which he totally stole from Magnus, and when he turns his back to lead Magnus into the room, the full length of four new white scars is bared. Magnus’s stomach twists.

Taako lounges back on the bed and returns a hand to his clothed cock, catching his lower lip in his teeth and watching Magnus through heavy-lidded eyes. “Did you come here for something, handsome?” His hips twitch up into his hand and he gives an affected sigh. “Or are you just gonna fuck me through the mattress and leave like usual?” Magnus sits level with Taako’s knees on the bed and fixes his eyes on the opposite wall, and he hears a real sigh from behind him. “Okay, we’re doing the talking thing.”

“How far does this go?” Magnus manages to force the question out between dry lips, and hopes his tone carries all the meaning the words don’t. _This_. The pain and blood and the reason those make his throat seize, the emotion he can’t name stretching tenuously open between them.

Magnus feels Taako’s weight shift on the bed. When he dares to look over, Taako is up on his knees, one hand down the front of his boxers and the other contorted behind his back, stroking—fuck— _fondling_ those fresh, knotted scars. His eyes meet Magnus’, and the vulnerability in his gaze doesn’t match the wry twist of his mouth as he says, “Pretty fucking far, my dude.” Then his eyes roll back and he gasps ecstatically, and it doesn’t sound like an exaggeration at all.

Nausea leaps up Magnus’s throat, and he must make some sort of noise, because Taako drops his hands to his sides. “Mags, I swear on every god and spirit, I’m fine. I’m healed. Touch ‘em yourself, if you want.” Magnus’s hands fist against his thighs in protest, and Taako sighs yet again. “You don’t have to, my dude, I know it’s kind of gross.”

“It’s not gross, Taako; I’m _worried_ about you!” Magnus erupts, and then he can’t stop himself. “What’s wrong? Did you _mean_ to get injured in that fight?”

“Gods above, Maggie, _no_ ,” Taako says with evident shock, then continues in a rush, “I try not to get hurt without, you know, a plan, healing, all that. I’m just enjoying these while I have the chance.” Magnus can’t really respond to that, and Taako seems to take that as assent, because he keeps going, licking his lips, “The skin’s healed over, but it’s still knitting together underneath, and the ache is like—” Taako edges towards him, voice growing huskier, “—fuck, Mags, there’s nothing else like it.”

A burn of something unidentifiable and fearful is making its way up Magnus’ neck, turning his lips and tongue to lead. Shaping his next words feels as monumental as carving them in stone.

“Taako, have you hurt yourself like this before?” A horrible thought strikes him then, and he has to press his lips together and swallow so he won’t actually vomit. “Has someone else?”

Taako opens his mouth. Closes it. Grips Magnus’ shoulders and looks him square in the eyes. “Yes. Repeatedly. And I _fucking loved it_.” A formless noise of protest rises in Magnus’ throat. Taako shakes him. “Mags, look at me. I’m not sick. I’m not traumatized. I’m not scarred—I mean, besides the obvious. I may be fucked up, my man, but I’m not unsafe. I hurt myself, and then I have a fucking excellent orgasm or two, and then I heal up and live my life.”

“What about when it’s someone else?”

“What?”

“When it’s someone else. Hurting you.” The words taste bitter.

“You don’t want me to talk about that,” Taako says flatly.

Magnus nods helplessly; Taako’s right. He takes a breath. “Taako, I can’t—I can’t not want to protect you. From everything. From yourself.”

Taako’s arms wind around Magnus’s shoulders, and his voice turns soft and sweet as it’s ever been. “I know, babe, I know, I know. It’s okay if it’s too much. We can go back to what we were doing before. You don’t have to think about this part; just forget it.”

“But you’ll keep doing it.”

Long pause.

“Yeah. I’ll keep doing it. Mags, it’s like jerking off; I swear, it’s just because it feels good. I’m not doing anything stupid.”

“I want to watch.”

“Uh.” Taako blinks a few times.

“I’ll feel better if I can see it. If I’m not imagining how bad it might be.”

A smile that might be tender flits across Taako’s face. “Okay. You’re not gonna try to stop me?”

Magnus swallows. “I, uh. I can’t promise that.”

“Fair enough,” Taako says after a moment. Then he’s flopping down sideways on the pillows. “Not tonight, though.”

“Why not?” Magnus can’t stop a flash of indignation.

“Because you need time to figure out if you’re actually okay with this.” Taako rolls onto his back and pulls Magnus on top of him. “And because I’ve been unconscious for two days and I’m fucking _dying_ to get my hands back on your dick, _please_.”

It’s tempting. Taako gets a hand on Magnus’ jaw and kisses him slowly, and it’s so fucking tempting to just get lost in it. Magnus props himself up over Taako on one elbow to trace the other hand down the arch of his ribcage, over his narrow waist, earning a ticklish shiver and gasp. Taako moans against his mouth, softly, desperately, when Magnus laces a hand into his hair. His lips are wet and pink, the contours of his face rounder and paler without makeup, and the look on his face steals the breath from Magnus’ lungs.

“Gods, Taako, you’re…” he manages, and then has to trail off. What could he say? He settles for ducking his head down, kissing the curve of Taako’s neck, bringing his other hand up to rest over Taako’s heart. He nips at the pulse in Taako’s throat, then sets his teeth and bites down properly, suddenly consumed with the need to leave a mark.

“ _Mags_ ,” Taako says on a groan, and Magnus bites harder. “Mags, _please_ , I need it, I need you.” There’s an edge of rawness in his voice, like unshed tears, and when Magnus drags a hand down to rub his cock, the noise he makes is as quiet and as needy as anything Magnus has ever heard from him. Magnus doesn’t even bother pulling Taako’s boxers down, just palms up and down the length of Taako’s cock and works the head with his thumb, and in a few seconds Taako throws his arms around Magnus’ shoulders and muffles a yell into Magnus’ neck as he comes.

After a minute, Taako heaves a huge breath and slumps back to the pillows, and if it were anyone else, Magnus might say he looks embarrassed.

“Was that from the—uh, the—” Magnus blurts out the question, then can’t finish it, can’t make the words leave his mouth. _The wounds_.

Taako hums lazily in acknowledgment, but Magnus still feels him tense up as he answers. “Sure was.” Magnus listens to Taako’s breathing for a few moments; he can almost hear Taako testing and discarding explanations.

“Tell me,” Magnus says softly.

The silence stretches longer before Taako licks his lips and whispers, “Anything going through my skin, it’s like—like getting fucked.” Uncharacteristic bashfulness colors his voice. “Sometimes I can come just from the pain, no touching or anything.”

For the first time, curiosity overruns worry in Magnus’s head. “Really?” Taako is blushing in earnest, something Magnus has never seen before.

“Really.” Taako’s nervous giggle is so captivating that Magnus can’t resist tugging him back up into a kiss, gentle as he can manage. Taako gasps and whines as Magnus slots a thigh between his legs, his hands roaming down the solid muscle of Magnus’s back to cup his ass.

And maybe this isn’t really what Taako was going for, but Magnus still finds himself murmuring in Taako’s ear, “You want to fuck me?”

“Fuck, _yes_ ,” Taako says immediately, and Magnus lets Taako push him up and roll him over onto the bed.

* * *

Magnus is still aching deliciously when he knocks on Taako’s door the next night.

It’s nowhere near enough to distract him from why he’s here.

Taako opens the door topless, in a flowing skirt, with Magnus’ bite mark still standing livid on the side of his neck, and asks without preamble, “Still want to watch?”

“Yeah. Yes,” Magnus says before he can second-guess himself, and then has to swallow thickly and dig his fingernails into his palms to get control of himself. If he hesitates a second longer, he’ll bolt, and—he knows this—lose Taako forever. They can’t just go back to what they were doing before, not now.

He lets Taako manhandle him onto the bed, guiding him to sit back against the headboard. He lets Taako tug off the skirt and kneel over him, bare and smooth and vulnerable. He lets Taako press against him, kiss him, long enough for them both to relax, melting into each other.

Unwrapping his arms then to let Taako pull away is the hardest thing Magnus has ever done.

As Taako draws back, he murmurs a few incantations: soundproofing, and something that flashes over his skin in an aura of pale blue, and something that caps his fingers in gleaming silver. His tongue flicks over his lips. “I’m going to cut up my legs a bit, okay?”

Magnus swallows again and tucks his hands behind his back. “Okay.”

Taako settles his ass down over Magnus’s hips and winks. “Stop me if it’s freaking you out too bad.” He hovers a finger over one thigh, and Magnus’s stomach leaps and drops at the same time to see the care Taako takes with the placement and angle. 

Then Taako brings the finger down. A line of blood tumbles, jewel-like, over his skin, and he gasps, eyes falling closed. When he drags the finger back up his leg, the flesh parts under it, and he hums happily. He opens another cut in the same place on the other leg, hands steady but the rest of his body trembling, and then opens glassy eyes and asks, “How you doin’, Mags?”

Magnus nods wordlessly, gaze flicking over his body, parsing out the blood and shivers and—yes, Taako’s cock is definitely very erect and twitching against his stomach. Fuck. Taako sets down three fingers from each hand and strokes them ever so gently across his inner thighs. The cuts that appear are shallow and scarcely beaded with blood, and his head drops back with a long, shaky moan. “Mags, you can’t imagine,” Taako whimpers, grinding down on his lap.

“Describe it,” Magnus says hoarsely, and stops himself from bucking up into the contact. He’s just supposed to watch. He’s just going to watch.

Gods, Taako’s expressions make him so fucking hard.

Taako meets his eyes, and his catlike pupils are huge and round. He grins mischievously and rolls his hips down again, just as he sinks all ten fingers into the skin right above his knees. The leaking blood speaks of wounds like needle punctures, and Taako pants desperately for a few moments, “Mags, Maggie, I want—need you to fuck me like this, someday, sweet gods,” before he lets up with a heaving breath. “Oh, fuck, I’ve never done this to _myself_ in front of someone; fuck, this is perfect.”

The reminder that someone else has _done this to Taako_ has Magnus growling with mingled possessiveness and protective instinct. Then the image of Taako doing this alone, blood-streaked and writhing inside his soundproofing, maybe with Magnus asleep in the next room, kicks in and engages so many disparate parts of his brain simultaneously that he might get whiplash.

“Describe it, Taako, please. I want to know,” Magnus insists, ignoring as best he can how Taako’s eyes lit up at the maybe-too-audible snarl.

Taako shudders, folding his hands in front of him, and then seems to think better of it. He breathes over his left hand like blowing out a candle, the silver spiraling and fading into the air, and then his fingers are working their way into Magnus’s pants. “It’s so fucking much, like—” He wraps his hand around Magnus’s cock, pulling a strangled breath out of him. “—like being touched after way too long, and right after I come, at the same time. I can feel it through my whole body.”

Taako traces aimless patterns on his inner thigh with one silvered finger, lines lighter and heavier like calligraphy, as he takes Magnus’s length in the other hand. His eyes are lost and unfocused and his erection is rubbing a smear of precome onto Magnus’s pants alongside the blood. Magnus is drawn in by the resistance of Taako’s flesh to whatever magic is slicing it open, how the cuts don’t seem to want to curve as his finger does, and he finds himself comparing it to the resistance of swords and daggers and claws, mentally gauging the depth of each wound, how smoothly the edges will heal over.

“Aw, dude,” Taako complains, and Magnus snaps out of it to find Taako fixing his flagging erection with a baleful look. “Mags, come on, you gotta tell me if you’re not okay with this.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine. I got lost in thought there.” Magnus can barely find his voice. _I’m fine with this_ , he thinks, and then, _oh, fuck, I’m actually fine with this._

Taako quirks an eyebrow and gestures expansively to himself. “Lost in thought with _this_ on top of you?” He dispels the silver from his other hand and drags Magnus up into a messy kiss. Magnus knows what to do here, at least. He grips Taako’s hair in one hand, wraps his other arm around Taako’s waist, and kisses him back fiercely. Taako makes a contented humming sound, and then touches the hand in his hair and whispers, “Pull.” Magnus hesitates, then tugs gently. When Taako continues his pleased humming, Magnus pulls harder, and earns an ecstatic moan in his ear.

Magnus uses his fistful of hair to yank Taako into another kiss and hold him there, and that sets Taako whining and squirming against him. “You like when I push you around?” Magnus growls against his lips.

That can’t possibly have been his own voice, but Taako is looking at him with something approaching wonder. “Fuck, Maggie, _please_ ,” he rasps.

The moment stretches and snaps, and then Magnus is burying his face guiltily in Taako’s shoulder, hands back behind him on the bed. “Sorry, I’m—sorry. I don’t think I can do that.”

“Hey, hey, it’s all good. You need to know what I want, right?” Magnus nods gratefully. “I’m so fine with that. Okay. I guess you don’t want to cut me yourself; how’d you feel about touching them?”

Magnus nods again. Words would be too much. Words could never be enough.

Taako takes his hands and mutters again, pale blue flaring over them both. “Cleaning,” Taako explains, “I’ll heal up right after, but no sense taking chances.” He lowers himself back until he’s lying on Magnus’s legs, back arched, bloody legs open around Magnus’ waist, their fingers still intertwined. Very slowly, he releases Magnus’s hands. “Cool. Touch me.”

Magnus inhales deeply and sets his hands on either side of Taako’s ribcage, cataloguing flesh and bone as he slides them down, over soft stomach and delicate hipbones. Taako relaxes into him as his hands reach the top of his thighs. “Can I?” Magnus whispers, and Taako actually doesn’t roll his eyes.

“Please,” he whispers back.

Magnus traces the shallowest cuts on Taako’s inner thighs first. The blood is already dried, rough against his fingertips, and Taako quakes as he outlines them one at a time. “Press a bit harder,” Taako murmurs, so Magnus obliges, setting his knuckles against one of the lines and pushing in. That gets a low groan of encouragement, escalating as he repeats the pressure on each wound, until he has both fists shoving into the cuts at the creases of Taako’s hips and Taako is still clutching his arms and begging for more.

Steeling himself, Magnus reaches for the still-wet slashes along the tops of Taako’s thighs. Blood wells out, blurring the precise lines of the wounds, but Magnus can feel the clean edges and the fragile tissue within. All of Taako’s muscles are visibly twitching with the effort to stay still. His arms drop flat at his sides, hands clenching and unclenching convulsively, and his breath comes fast and rough.

Magnus clears his throat, swallows hard. “What sort of blade is that spell?” He runs his fingers down the entire length of the cuts again, and Taako’s breathless giggle modulates to a moan.

“They’re based on papercuts, actually. Splitting the skin on a fine line.” Taako pauses, gasping. “Not tearing like claws or—” Another pause, a long gulp of air. “—or pushing it apart like most blades.” A definite flush is rising up Taako’s neck, but he composes himself enough to smirk up at Magnus and say lazily, “I love it when you talk dirty to me, baby.”

Magnus, too, finds himself caught between laughter and arousal. Stroking the wounds beneath his fingers again, blood collecting on his fingertips, gives him a moment to think. Then he pitches his voice down into a rumble to say, before his rational brain has a chance to panic and stop him, “So, if I asked how the shadow’s claws felt…?”

Taako’s eyes fly wide open. “Maggie, _gods_ ,” he says.

“Too much?” Magnus pulls his hands back, apology ready on his tongue.

“No,” Taako gasps, and his eyes glaze over as he loses himself in the memory. “Oh, fuck, it—it was so intense, Mags. I thought it was gonna kill me, and it felt so fucking _good_.” Taako exhales sharply as Magnus grips his thighs, squeezing a fresh trickle of blood from the cuts. Tears well in his eyes, and he chokes on the inhale, whining, “Mags, more, c’mon.” Magnus obediently digs his fingers in harder and scratches down, nails catching the edges of the cuts; the flesh pulls open, hot and wet, sweet and sickening beneath his touch. He watches with near awe as Taako’s entire body goes rigid, a high keen escaping between his teeth, and a thick stream of come drips off his cock.

Taako’s body slackens inch by inch, and Magnus tracks the process, transfixed. His fingertips are still pressing into Taako’s thighs, now tacky with slowly drying blood. Taako shudders and moans again as he lifts his hands.

“Taako, are you okay?” he asks. Softly, this time, mesmerized by the distinct feeling that his life has just flipped upside-down without informing him.

Taako’s hands find his and clutch with surprising strength, given the rest of his body is still ragdoll-limp in Magnus’ lap. The corners of his mouth curl up, crinkling his closed eyes. “So much better than okay, Maggie,” he breathes, “So much.”

Magnus isn’t sure how long he sits like that, bloody hands clasped in Taako’s smaller, bloodier ones, listening to Taako’s slow breathing. Long enough for his legs to lose feeling and a knot to drop anchor in the muscle of his shoulder. He’s past wondering whether Taako has fallen asleep and well into deciding how to wake him when Taako’s eyes flutter open and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

Achingly slow, Taako pulls himself up to sitting. A faint smile is still curving his lips, and he looks tranquil. Calmer than Magnus has ever seen him, really, not even a hint of the manic energy that usually propels him through the world. He seems at once stronger and more fragile than ever before.

More than anything, that’s what makes Magnus’ heart clutch painfully, sweetly, in his chest. Taako is starting to shift his weight off Magnus’ legs when the words spill unbidden out of his mouth. “Taako, can I—can I hold you?”

Taako stills, and they sit suspended for an eternal moment.

Then he relaxes and leans forward against Magnus, lips pressed to Magnus’ collarbone. Tension Magnus didn’t know he was carrying rushes out of him and he wraps his arms around Taako, cups the back of his head, skates the other hand down his spine, pulls him close, full of an absurd swell of gratitude. Taako’s hands rest on his shoulders, his lithe body is cool in Magnus’ arms, and his heart beats quick and light under Magnus’ palm. He is breakable. He isn’t broken.

Minutes later, Taako gives a contented little sigh, puff of breath warm on Magnus’ skin, and murmurs, “I love your bear hugs, big guy, but this is getting itchy.” He lifts himself off Magnus’ legs and settles on the edge of the bed, then pauses. “Tell anyone I said that and I’ll kill you.”

That’s enough for Magnus to crack into a grin, and Taako glares at him. “Healing potions in the nightstand. Pass me one.” He sticks a hand out, and Magnus obligingly produces a vial and hands it over. Taako drains the potion and shivers, gritting his teeth as the shallow cuts begin to stitch together. “Prickles,” he mutters, catching the flash of worry on Magnus’ face.

“Wait, so getting hurt doesn’t bother you, but healing does?” Magnus prods.

Taako rolls his eyes. “Pain is fine. Pain is _great_. Even natural healing feels good. This—this is just _annoying_.” He scrubs both hands over his legs, scattering flakes of dried blood, and makes a face. A flick of his fingers, and the blood melts away, leaving his skin clean, smooth, unharmed. Then he looks over at Magnus and shakes his head, laughing. “You want me to, uh, clean you up, babe?”

Magnus looks down at himself. His hands are covered in blood; smears of it color his arms where Taako’s hands rested; his trousers bear dark stains where drops ran off Taako’s legs; and there’s a sticky swath of half-dried blood and semen across his lower belly. Then Taako’s hands move again, and it’s all gone.

Somehow, that’s when it hits him, as soon as the blood vanishes. The thought of what they’ve just done punches the breath out of him, making his head swim so violently he has to steady himself on the bed. He licks his lips, suddenly voiceless.

“Mags? You okay?” Taako asks from very far away.

“Uh,” Magnus manages, and reaches out to clutch at Taako’s hand.

“Can’t tell if that’s a good reaction or bad, my dude.”

“Me neither,” Magnus says, with a hitch that’s equal part chuckle and sob. He squeezes Taako’s hand tighter, and Taako presses in closer to him, nudging their shoulders together. Impulsively, he adds, “Don’t do that anymore.” Taako goes stiff beside him before he finishes, “Alone, I mean. Don’t do that alone. I want to be there.”

Taako’s doubt practically radiates off him, even as he says, “Okay, babe. I won’t.”

“I mean it,” Magnus insists. “As often as you need. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” Taako says again, gentler, more certain. “You will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments fuel more filth and nonsense like this. Feed me.


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